Mistaken Identity
by Leonhard van Euler
Summary: On one dark and gloomy Christmas Eve, Harry is on his way to the cemetery in Godric's Hollow to pay his parents a visit, when he stumbles upon an almost dead man, later identified as Tony Stark. When the man dies at his feet, Harry decides that this is the perfect opportunity to take on his identity and start a new life. Harry is Tony Stark! Post-War. Intelligent!Harry DISCONTINUED
1. Prologue

**Just a little prologue for a story I wrote in an hour. Hope you like it.**

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The street was dark and gloomy. The full moon was hidden by multiple layers of thick, stormy clouds, hence the darkness. Little snowflakes were falling to the ground, adding to the thick blanket of snow which already lay there. Small, cosy cottages stood on either side of the road, most of them alit with warm lights from within. Music and laughter came from many of them. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of Christmas carols could be heard - probably in the church.

And then in the distance, a man - slightly on the small side - appeared, having rounded the corner leading to said church and the cemetery that abut it. His gait was tired and weary and perhaps under the influence of alcohol. He meandered down the street, seemingly with no proper destination.

A gust of wind blew the clouds covering the moon away, and suddenly moonlight struck that street and the man's profile was thrown into sharp relief. His features were angular, and void of any fat, as though he had been perpetually starved his entire life. His cheeks were hollow, and the cheekbones above them cast a dark shadow.

His eyes were hollow, as though he was severely tired and in mourning. A wine bottle was loosely hanging from his hand and upon realising that it was empty, the man promptly chucked it to the side, and withdrew a small flask from a pocket. He raised it to his lips and tipped the contents straight into his mouth. Some of the liquid dribbled down his several day-old beard.

It was upon this man, that our dear Harry Potter stumbled upon.

Harry stuffed his cold fingers into the pockets of his anorak. The hood (lined with fake fur) that he had drawn over his head earlier tickled his cheeks and he jerked his head slightly to make it fall. The cold instantly assaulted his head again, but he stubbornly refused to raise it again.

Snow crunched under his black army boots and he frowned, realising he would probably have to clean at least five inches of snow off the gravestones of his parents. The snowstorm that had been raging across Europe for the past few days had hit Godric's Hollow very strongly.

Evidently, this had not dampened the mood of the inhabitants of Godric Hollow - this much was obvious from the laughter and sound of christmas carols that could be heard from the surrounding area. In a nearby house, two toddlers ran into the front-yard, wearing onesies. Giggling they started chasing each other around in the snow, while their parents stood by the door beckoning their children towards them. The mother was holding two thick coats in her hands and a pair of scarves.

Harry smiled softly at that and he wondered whether he would have had such a life if his parents hadn't died. He wondered what it was like to have a family; a proper loving family who loved you unconditionally. Would it be anything like Sirius had been to him?

Harry's morose thoughts about the death of his parents and the what-ifs, if they had indeed survived, were cut off brusquely as the clouds parted and a man, less than ten metres away from him was thrown into the light of the moon. Harry blinked rapidly and his eyes quickly adjusted to the sudden change of light. The man tossed a bottle to the side, reached into his trouser pocket and downed another flask of (presumably) hard liquor.

The War Hero stared a the slightly older man, mouth agape, which then suddenly turned into a frown of concern as the man promptly dropped to the ground (joining the first bottle) as if the string he had been hanging on had been cut in two. Harry instantly rushed to his side.

"Alright mate?" Harry asked, concernedly as he patted his cheek, to wake him up from his stupor. The man's eyelids fluttered slightly, but he remained otherwise immobile. Harry bit his lip. Should he call an ambulance? Was this man a muggle?

His state of dress (a thin, very thin, jumper with the letters A-C-D-C printed on it and a pair of slightly torn jeans) indicated that the man was a muggle. Harry briefly wondered what ACDC was but willed that thought away. Currently the man's health was more important. Unzipping his coat, Harry covered the man with it, so as to warm him up.

 _"_ _HAVE YOU GONE MAD? ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?!"_ Ron's words echoed back to him and Harry winced, realising he could have cast a warming charm on himself. With a sharp wave of his wand and a whisper, he warmed the man up (and himself - after all, the cold hadn't suddenly decided to skip him).

The man was still frozen stiff and suddenly a wave of horror fell upon Harry. Was he dead? Gritting his teeth, he placed his fingertips on the man's pulse-point on his neck. It was all for nought though, as there was no pulse point to be found. He was dead.

Harry felt bile rise to his throat and he pushed it down. He had seen terrible deaths in the war, many terrible injures - but at least then people had been fighting for a cause. This man… he had just died. Just like that. Just because some higher deity - if one did indeed exist - thought he was unimportant. This man could be a father - or a brother - or a son to someone… and he was dead.

Taking a deep breath, Harry reached into his trouser pockets, searching for some sort of identification. In the left pocket he found a wallet with several credit cards (two of them with cut off corners), a slightly wrinkled black and white picture of an elderly woman (probably his mother or aunt). Oddly, the worn leather wallet was filled with several hundred of dollars. Was this man American? This question was answered when Harry found his ID in the see-through compartment.

Anthony Edward Stark. That was his name. 21 years of age. Son of Howard and Maria Stark.

Glancing at the man, Harry compared him to the picture on the ID which revealed a completely different visage. On the small photograph, Stark was smirking cockily at the camera. He had a well kept Balbo beard, and a well-cut hairstyle. The dead man lying in the snow near him was simply a small tatter of what he had been. This man had an unshaven beard, unbrushed, oily hair and dark shadows under his eyes.

Oddly, Harry could see some of himself in the picture. They had similarly shaped eyes and nose.

In the right pocket Harry found two pieces of paper bunched up together and gently straightened the papers only to find, with shock, that they were death certificates for the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark - his parents! The death certificates were dated a few days ago. Apparently they had died in a car crash.

Harry shot their son a small pitying look. The man must've drunk himself to death after receiving the news of their death. The bluish tingle in his extremities hinted towards the fact that hypothermia could have also been a factor to his death. And then, an idea popped into Harry's head. If his world would have been a cartoon, a lightbulb would have appeared above his head.

The man's parents were dead and the ID showed that he wasn't married to anyone. If he had a girlfriend (or boyfriend for that matter), they would be with him. Besides, the strong cologne which Harry could still smell on him hinted to the fact that this man was a Ladies' man. Ladies' Men didn't have attachments. They were like Mayflies, flittering from one woman to the next.

Anthony Stark didn't have any attachments - not any obvious ones anyway and he seemed unassuming enough. Maybe… maybe Harry could take _his_ place!

Harry winced as that morbid idea popped into his head. It was immoral… No. He couldn't just… _take_ a man's identity! …But… he _needed_ to leave the Wizarding World. Post-war Britain was a joke and everyone seemed to want to turn to Harry for help. He received hundreds of letters per day, requesting his help in some matter. This was the perfect opportunity for that…

He could… Just use a glamour to change his appearance. And then he would be free. Free of all expectations and responsibilities. He could attend University! Regain anonymity!

Glancing down at the body lying at his feet, Harry sincerely hoped that Anthony Stark wasn't famous.

* * *

 **To continue or not to continue?**


	2. Chapter 1

Well Bugger.

He _was_ famous.

Harry groaned. Him and his rotten luck. It seemed like bad luck loved to follow him like 13 followed a Friday. Currently, Harry was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, loitering in their archive as he had been for the past several days, searching for the elusive Stark family. At one point, 36 hours in, Harry had started believing that maybe, Anthony, Maria and Howard Stark were simply aliases.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement kept a self updating archive of everyone and anyone foreign who had ever entered Britain since the foundation of the Ministry of Magic in 1629. It was a tacky piece of magic which was often inaccurate. Probably because the spell had been created and cast in 1629 and hadn't been renewed since then. Nevertheless, Harry had chosen that archive to find the Starks because it was his best shot. Here, in Britain most people felt some sort of obligation to him (for defeating Voldemort) and as a result, Harry was allowed access to pretty much any department in the British Ministry of Magic.

He let out a deep sigh as he skimmed down the file. Anthony Stark had apparently flown into the country about a week ago. The blank headlined with 'reason' in his paperwork for his visa, had been left blank. His file also revealed that one of his suitcases had been confiscated by border control, as it had been full with alcohol bottles. Harry pressed his lips together at that; apparently, Anthony Stark hadn't had business on his mind.

Harry stood up and tucked the file under his arm, he would finish reading it in the hotel room he had rented in central London. The houses he owned were either too destroyed, or emotionally difficult to enter. It wasn't as if the Weasleys hadn't offered him to stay at theirs for a while… In fact, they had asked him repeatedly. Harry had politely declined each time. Ginny was still living at home and Harry felt a little awkward. After the war… Well, he was a damaged person, Ginny deserved better.

"Find what you need?" Harry's head snapped upwards as he was jerked from his own thoughts. A large, dark-skinned man was standing in front of him, eyebrow quirked. Harry pressed the file closer to his body and seeing the movement, Kingsley's eyes flickered downwards and his eyebrow almost disappeared into his hair.

"Yeah, thanks Kingsley. Lot of help, this," Harry said gesturing towards the file, consciously moving a hand to cover the name on the file. If he was going to take another man's place, he was going to have to make sure that no one knew _whose_ identity he was taking.

"Glad, I could be of service…" He trailed off, and his eyes grew concerned as he took in the scrawny, nineteen year old man. Harry's eyes narrowed at that expression. He hated when people remarked on his build. Yes, he was eating enough. Yes, he slept as much as he could. And yes, nightmares of the war still bothered him.

"Harry, look… We're all worried."

Harry's jaw clenched.

"We barely see you and if we do, it's somewhere in the archives in the Department of Mysteries or in the library at Hogwarts." Kingsley said in his deep lion-like rumble. Harry could see why his patrons was said animal.

Harry's back stiffened. "I'm fine Kingsley. You know I'm taking my Mastery in Arithmancy in a few days. I've been studying."

"Harry. This is excessive. Even Hermione agrees-"

"Kingsley, I'm fine," Harry almost growled. Kingsley's eyes grew guarded, and he leaned backwards.

"Very well." He raised his hands in a placating, surrendering gesture, "You're fine." He obviously didn't believe his own words.

Harry scratched the back of his head, all of a sudden feeling very awkward. "Look, Kingsley, I have to go. I'll see you, yeah?"

Kingsley folded his hands behind his back and he nodded once. Harry scrambled past him.

…

The small hotel Harry was staying in, had a small computer area in the lobby - near the bar. Harry was sitting in the corner of that room, on the computer facing the rest of the room. Like that he could observe them all, but no one could see what _he_ was doing. Usually this was the most loved computer for people searching for porn and even now, Harry could see two gentlemen sitting the bar and throwing him occasional random looks as if waiting for him to get off it.

Harry bit his lip as he opened Internet Explorer and 'Google' popped up. He knew, from his brief stays at the Dursley's household, how to turn on a computer, and how to search the internet… other than that, he didn't know much.

Looking down at the keyboard, Harry hesitantly started to type. A-N-T-H-O-N-Y S-T-A-R-K.

A man on a computer a little farther away turned his head slightly to give him an odd look. And judging from the way his fingers sped over his own keyboard, Harry concluded that it was unusual for people to type as slowly as he did.

It took a while for the page to load and Harry leaned back in his chair to wait. After a few minutes, he frowned and turned his attention back to his screen which was still loading. Apparently, the Internet Explorer wasn't the fastest search engine.

Finally, after a few more minutes, a page appeared with several links to different websites and Harry's eyes widened at the amount of the results. Ok. Maybe Anthony Stark - no the articles called him Tony Stark - was a bit more famous than he had previously thought.

Apparently, he was a computer genius, who had graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (the article seemed to think it was a big deal - was it like the Oxford equivalent for computers?), with two master's degrees (which Harry also gathered was a big deal) at the age of nineteen.

Right. So this man was a genius - had been a genius and Harry was going to take his place. He bit his lip and looked down at the keyboard again. Well shit. He was going to have to become much, much better at computers.

…

Harry, now glamoured at Tony Stark stepped out of the sleek, black car, and thanked the driver for the drive who looked at him, startled. Harry winced inwardly at that - Tony Stark was supposed to be an arrogant playboy. Thanking the driver for a drive didn't exactly live up to that reputation.

San Francisco was much hotter and more humid than England, and Harry soon found himself loosening his tie as sweat started creeping up his throat. The driver that had picked him up at the airport (apparently, he was a VIP customer of that airport, and every time he flew there, the airport organised a personal taxi for him), had brought him to an iron wrought gate. Behind that gate stood a large, dark manor, with an immaculate garden.

"Sir," Said the driver, acknowledging Harry's thanks.

Harry waited till the driver had driven off, before he turned back to he manor. The well-kept garden, and the lively flowers he could see through one of the upper windows, obviously showed that someone still took care of the manor. Servants perhaps?

Harry pressed a hand against the iron gate and it swung open silently. Well oiled.

The path to the house wasn't straight, it meandered to the right, then left, then right again. Harry ignored it, and instead walked straight across the perfectly manicured lawn and to the door, which swung open as he approached it.

"Good morning, sir," came a British accented voice. The man was a butler - dressed in a full butler uniform and he looked so utterly British that it almost made Harry laugh outright. He wondered what his name was. Maybe Tony Stark had held a diary? Something told him that he hadn't had one.

Harry cleared his throat, making sure to speak with an american accent. He had already used a spell to change his voice to match Tony's, but the accent still had to be right.

"'Morning."

"My condolences, sir. From the staff too," said the butler and Harry frowned for a moment, wondering to what he was referring to. Ah! The death of Tony's parents.

"Yeah."

The butler looked at him oddly, as though he had been expecting another answer. Harry pursed his lips. As far as he could tell, Tony Stark hadn't been close to anyone. Convincing the rest of the world would be easy, but the butler? the staff? they had probably known Tony from his birth.

"You were reported missing," The butler said blandly and Harry tensed slightly. Tony hadn't returned to his hotel after he'd died (obviously) and Harry had had no idea where he was staying, so instead, he had just read the file from the archive to see when the visa was supposed to expire. He had taken the next flight to San Fransisco.

Harry smirked, "I was enjoying the night with two blondes and several bottles of champagne." The butler rolled his eyes and Harry smirked inwardly, yes, that was an answer that the butler was obviously used to.

"You missed the funeral." The man said after a long pause.

Harry untied the tie and loosened his collar and started making his way to the grand stairs. "That usually happens when you're in another country." He paused for a moment, turned his head slightly to face the butler and said: "With two blondes."

The butler snorted and closed the door again, "Do you require anything, sir? Or will you be going to the lab?"

Harry almost asked for a cup of tea, but realised almost at the last moment, that Tony Stark probably was the last person who would ever drink tea.

"Just a scotch - mind you, the bottle, not a tumbler."

The butler raised an eyebrow, "Scotch? Bourbon's you're favourite."

Harry bit his lip at his mistake. He couldn't afford to make mistakes like that.

"Yeah, well, I like scotch now."

With that, he disappeared up the stairs.

…

The manor was ridiculously terrible to navigate. It was a maze of hallways, each leading to other hallways and junctions. Some lead to dead ends. He meandered down the many hallways, pausing every now and then to inspect various trophies hanging on the walls. Sometimes they were paintings of ancestors or paintings by famous people, and sometimes they were hunting trophies, such as deer heads, which stared at him with blank eyes as Harry walked past them, feeling a little sick.

Eventually he found a part of the manor that looked considerably more modern. After taking a right at a junction (he was positive he'd passed that junction several times already), he'd walked down a long hallways and had suddenly ended up at a dead end. Curiously, the hallway had been steadily slanting downwards, as if leading towards the basement.

And at the dead end was a door. An automatic door. The kind one would probably see at a shopping mall. The difference was, however, there was a small panel near the door.

Harry groaned as he saw that. He had seen enough James Bond films with Hermione (who was a very, very big fan), to know what that was and what it meant. An _Automated Fingerprint Identification System._ Shit.

Harry raised his hands to his face and squinted slightly. The prescription for his contact lenses was wrong - he would have to get a new one as his hands were still blurry when he raised them to his face.

He wondered whether a full body glamour (which he'd done) also covered minute details such as fingerprint recognition. But glancing at the panel, Harry decided not to try it out. Howard Stark had probably installed some sort of security system and Harry almost had no doubt that everything within the room would explode if the panel didn't recognise the palm of the person trying to get in.

What to do… What to do… What to do…!?

He couldn't just apparate into the room as he hadn't ever been _inside_. He couldn't blast the door open with a _bombarda;_ that would attract too much unwanted attention from the maids and perhaps the butler.

"I guess you're not Tony Stark then - if you can't get in."

The butler's voice came as a surprise to Harry and he spun around, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to get over the shock. The butler looked very well composed. His face was void of any emotion, but his eyes were narrowed slightly in suspicion. In his hand, he held a bottle of single malt Scottish scotch.

"How do you know, maybe father never keyed me in."

The butler snorted in the same way one snorts when one find unbelievable proof.

" _Father_." He paused and snorted again, "As if Tony would ever, _ever_ say 'Father.'"

"Dad, er… I meant dad." Harry tried weakly to correct himself. The butler just shook his head sadly.

"No, Tony hated the man and was disliked in return. He called him by name."

"Oh."

"You had me at the beginning you know." The butler said, with no hint of hate, or any other emotion for that matter.

"Fine," he sighed, feeling defeated. If the butler was so quick to recognise him, how would he manage to pull this off? "I'm not Tony." Harry leaned against the wall and considered the man.

The butler smirked, "Thought so. What's your name then? And why do you look like Tony?"

"Erm…" Harry dropped his American drawl and switched back to British English. After all, what was the point now? "My name is Harry Potter," He was happy to note that the butler didn't know his name. "And well, I'm not at liberty to say." The Statue of Secrecy and all that. Nevertheless, Harry let go of his magic and allowed it to fade away. He suddenly grew an inch or two in height, his shoulders narrowed and his body mass shrank, leaving a lanky teenager in the place of Tony Stark.

The butler's eyebrows raised in surprise, but otherwise, he didn't show any emotion.

"Huh. That's new." He extended his hand to Harry, "My name is Jarvis. I'm - or was - the butler of the Stark family. I've been here since Tony was a little child, that's how I knew that you aren't really him. We were close." He paused for a moment as they shook hands. He seemed to collect his thoughts. "I assume by you being here, that Tony is d-dead?"

Harry clenched his jaw and nodded once. "I was on my way to visit my parent's grave, when I saw him stumbling down the street, drunk. He passed out and died seconds later."

The butler - Jarvis - gave a dry, sardonic laugh and he shook his head. Harry wondered whether it was a trick of the light or whether his eyes had become wetter from tears. "Just like little Tony…" He trailed off, staring into the distance like a blind man. Harry bit his lip.

"Look, Jarvis. I'm sorry. I-I-I…" Harry swallowed, trying to get control of his voice, "I was involved in a terrible war," his voice was trembling now, he could feel himself shaking. PTSD wasn't exactly a joy-ride, "and I did something, and won the war for our side. I'm-I'm a hero, and everyone wants something from me. I wanted to escape, but I didn't know how. Tony - well… he died at my feet and I wanted… I dunno…"

Jarvis was giving him a stern look and Harry suddenly felt like Mcgonagall was suddenly standing in front of him, berating him for being out of bed past curfew.

"I saw many horrible deaths in the war. But at least people were dying for a cause. Tony… Tony just died. Just like that. I guess I wanted something more for him…" Harry trailed off. Jarvis was still giving him that stern look.

"Look. Report me to the authorities, kick me out of the house; whatever. Just - I'm sorry. My condolences for his death. You were obviously close."

Harry was about to start marching down the hall again, when Jarvis grabbed hold of his arm. "No. Lad. You can stay." He sighed deeply and his eyes grew downcast, then suddenly they snapped back up to Harry's face. Said boy stared back at him, eyes wide; surprised.

"B-But why?! I impersonated Tony - a-and took advantage of him!"

Jarvis sighed, "Potter, if you had just taken his spot for the money or the fame, then you'd be taking advantage of him. But you want to make his life better, and you seem like a nice lad." Jarvis' eyes narrowed again, "You've got a lot to learn laddie. Tony was a child genius. Graduated from MIT at nineteen-"

"With two masters in electrical engineering and physics, yeah I know."

"And he's sort of famous. The very thing you were running from."

Harry sighed, "Yeah, but he's not that famous right? I mean, he can walk down the street without getting mobbed or anything, right?"

Jarvis pursed his lips as he considered the question, then he said slowly: "No. I guess not. Two more years, and he could have become a household name." He paused, "Mind you - for his playboy tendencies."

Harry chuckled and took the bottle of scotch from Jarvis and glanced at it sceptically, then turning his puppy-dog look at Jarvis, he let himself pout a bit, "Can I have a cup of tea now?"

Jarvis snorted, "Well, if your accent isn't British enough already!"

Their giggles echoed down the hallway, and a maid who had been coincidentally passing through that wing of the manor in search for her duster stopped for a moment and rolled her eyes at the giggles echoing down the hallway. Evidently, Jarvis had finally managed to make Tony share his hoard of alcohol.

* * *

 **So I've had this chapter for a while. About a month... but I was hesitant to post it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Basically, I will be explaining the exact way Harry becomes Tony Stark... But fear not, the Avengers will be coming in soon - so will a couple of wizards! Goodbye for now!**

 **Guest: Thank you very much!**

 **Smile Black: hahah hope you liked the chapter then!**

 **Guest 1: Thank you!**

 **Done: hahah thank you! I hope I will manage to find the time to continue this one... it will be one helluva project!**

 **Guest 2: I have!**

 **Johnny boy: Thank you! I have! Glad you liked it so much!**


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